Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Kin, as he wished to be called, was puzzled by the way I laughed at his introduction. Well, I don’t blame him. After finding out that at least one other person had to do the same as me while introducing ourselves, I found it entertaining. This towering, well-muscled man took my bantering ever so lightly as no other male had done. He looked like he was chiselled and sculptured by the Creator Himself, immaculate and unblemished. He’s definitely out of my league. But why did my heart beat like crazy when I laid my eyes on him? And, my stomach was fluttering with excitement by his mere presence. I didn’t even know who he was, yet, I’d never felt this close to a stranger before in my entire life.

Then I heard him say, “I’m getting 2:00 p.m. tickets for us. Is that okay with you?”

“The Martian?” I asked. “Of course, The Martian,” he grinned.

God, I’m melting. Everything he does or says right now makes me feel giddy and tingly all over. Is this some sort of emotional deprivation on my part? Just the sight and sound of him complete me. Oh boy. I am befittingly out of my mind.

“Ami, with an ‘i’,” he called. “Yes?” I answered.

“I’ve got the tickets, and it’s only a quarter past twelve. Care to have lunch with me?”

And, there he goes again, throwing that incredible smile at me. I lost my voice for a minute there, so I just nodded. We got out of the cinema side by side, and I was about to go to my car when Kin said, “Let’s take my car instead.”

I just nodded in agreement with him, but I still couldn’t tell which was his car until we crossed the road to a black sports car with red stripes.

“Get outta here!” I exclaimed, staring at his car. “You drive a Bugatti Chiron?”

“Wow, I’m surprised you even know one,” an impressed Kin drawled.

“Yeah, I know a thing or two about fast cars,” I stammered, swiftly putting up my mask. I wasn’t about to tell Kin that my dad owned a Lamborghini Egoista, a McLaren F1 and an Audi E-Tron GT.

He chuckled as if he could figure out my family background but instead left it as it was. Kin was not like some guys who turned arrogant and conceited with his richness. I’ve even met my dad’s associates who love to show off their expensive cars but will never let anyone touch them. But Kin, he even grinned when I ran my palms all over his car. For a moment there, I could see a flash of lust in his eyes as he stared broodingly at me.

As Kin sped to the nearest restaurant, I couldn’t help but admire the way his hands manoeuvred the wheel, as if he was born to be behind it. His aura of confidence emanated power and efficacy in everything he does and owns. Suddenly, it dawned on me to ask him an utmost important question.

“Do you have a wife and kids?” I asked as I looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Now you ask me?” he smirked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. Do you? Cause if you do, please send me back to my car.”

“I’m not married, and I don’t have kids,” Kin said bluntly.

“How would I know if you’re not lying?” I needled him.

“I don’t lie. Nor will I ever lie to you, Ami,” he uttered vehemently.

I sighed and leaned back against the soft leather seat. Initially, I was on edge, but hearing Kin say those words somehow put me at ease. Call it crazy, but I tend to believe every word he uttered.

The café was at the end of the other side of the street, set in a secluded corner with a few tables set out on the pavement. It looked like a nouveau restaurant, with food ranging from pastries, sandwiches to pastas. I requested to sit outside since it was such a beautiful day, and Kin obliged. No sooner we sat, a waiter came over and handed us the A4 size menu board. He stood there waiting for us to order our food without even giving us time to run through the menu. I immediately saw what I liked and placed my order right away.

“Seafood carbonara and lemon juice, please.”

“One seafood carbonara spaghetti and a lemon juice,” he repeated.

“Oh, you only have spaghetti? Can I have it in farfalle?” I queried.

“What?” he asked me rudely, his beady eyes roaming my upper body.

“Farfalle; the pasta that looks like a bow-tie.” It was Kin who answered him, and that managed to divert the waiter from me to Kin. Perhaps Kin didn’t like the way that waiter subjected me, and it warmed my heart.

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” said the waiter dismissively, who was starting to annoy me.

“It’s either you do have it, or you don’t,” Kin retaliated, his voice dangerously low.

“I guess you had better ask our chef yourself,” the waiter looked at Kin in exasperation. Within a few seconds, a male chef appeared from the kitchen door and strode towards our table.

“You asked for seafood carbonara, Miss?” he asked politely.

“Yes. I was wondering if you make it in other pasta,” I spoke gently.

“Of course. Just name your pasta, and we’ll cook for you,” his voice was becoming pretty arrogant.